


Three is a Crowd

by MisterStalker, This-Is-Not-Overwatch-Fanfic (tiny_freakin_head)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Age Difference, Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Unrequited attraction, dub con, non con, period accurate sexism, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterStalker/pseuds/MisterStalker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_freakin_head/pseuds/This-Is-Not-Overwatch-Fanfic
Summary: Before the events of the comics, Spy infiltrates the classic base to learn what they are doing after supposedly taking their retirement. He encounters his mentor, the classic Spy, and struggles again with a hopeless attraction to the original Mister Tall, Slim, & Mysterious. Until the Classic Spy invites the Classic Demoman to join them.Written by the T side of Tiny-Freakin-Head and MisterStalker





	Three is a Crowd

 

The classic Pyro was giddy, anticipating the thrill of unhindered sadism. Personally, she loved to torture spies. They were trained to resist torture and she loved to see them fight with themselves against the pain for as long as possible before beginning to desperately wonder when the interrogation was going to begin. That is when she liked to tell them that her team knows everything, and she is simply killing her prisoners slowly, and violently.

This RED Spy was long and slender. And if she trusted his accent, he was French. She didn’t expect he could survive much of her blunt tools. But she could still have fun working her way up to those.

Bea barely finished tying Spy down to a hard wooden chair when the heavy door opened and allowed her own classic spy in.

The Classic Spy was tall and slim and seemed to not show his years, except for tired lines around his shown eye. His code name was Falcon Eye, but he never specified whether it was his human eye or the telescoping lense over his other eye that earned the name. Spy always thought the name suited him much better for the cool blue/grey uniforms, and his strategy to perch on tall buildings and swoop down on the ends of long ropes. It was as close as a human man could be to becoming a bird of prey.

The RED Spy was almost grinning upon seeing the familiar face. Or at least, the small portion of the face he was familiar with. His mentor never had a soft touch, or very much mercy. But he preferred this man over the sadistic Pyro, or over nearly anyone else, truly.

The man's eye settled on RED Spy, his former pupil. He recognized him despite the mask but did not show the same excitement to see someone he knows. Instead, he sighed and his shoulders sunk with some disappointment.

The classic Spy spoke to the Pyro, "Red Hot" he used her code name, "We have a prisoner in another room. I'll handle this one."

The classic Pyro finished assembling an electric sander, and answered by powering it up a few times before she left without a word.

The classic Spy walked forward then and looked over Spy in this state, "I thought you outgrew this phase. Letting yourself to be captured by my team... " The mask hid his expression, but the frown could be heard.

The younger Spy swallowed hard, adam’s apple visibly bobbing even beneath his mask. He was surprised his captor had left it on, however temporarily, but he appreciated that small barrier between himself and the world. His hands were trembling a little, and he was glad they were behind his back. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and smiled. “If you think I would voluntarily allow myself to be captured by that...” he jerked his head in the direction the Pyro had left, “...monster! You’re senile. Which would be truly tragic.” He coughed. “I do appreciate you sending her away.”

The classic Spy's expression was stoney and stoic but his tone was clear when he spoke, "Then you were taken unwillingly." He was possibly more disappointed in his past apprentice. 

“I was,” he agreed, looking down at his perfectly polished shoes, making it clear he wouldn’t be intimidated by the other Spy’s height or nearness. The older Spy’s palpable disappointment stung, but he had more than enough facial control to keep it from showing. Despite forever hoping for this man’s praise, and fantasizing that praise would lead to mutual attraction, Spy knew not to expect anything but a demand for him to be better.

"How is it that you fall into these messes?" The taller man tapped a foot on the wooden leg of Spy's chair. The older man was tall, but when viewed by a sitting man he seemed tall and dignified and perfect. And definitely looking down at Spy. "Do you never learn?"

His smile broadened and he looked up, making pointed eye contact with his former mentor and give him a most charming look. “If this unfortunate incident reflects poorly on your teachings, there is always the option of simply letting me go. Much less embarrassing for you, hmm? Especially as you weren’t even the one to capture me.”

The classic folded his arms. It was rare that anyone outside of his team called him by his code name. It always felt strangely personal for someone else to say it. But he didn't let the younger man unbalance him. He turned the conversation back around easily enough, "Careful, Bernard. I'm not sure that I'm going to let you free, yet."

The younger Spy’s expression soured a little. “You really should. It is hardly my fault your base is in such disrepair that a roof collapses the moment I step on it!” Spy’s intelligence of the layout of the base was flawless and the route he chose on the roof was a perfect direct path to the control room. But who could prepare for a part of the roof to practically disintegrate beneath his foot? After that, it was simply bad luck to fall through the ceiling and directly into the arms of the most frightening sadist the classic team had.

The older man inclined his head, "Are you here because I didn't call you for your birthday or something?" He checked his watch to see if the date meant anything to him. Birth date, employment anniversary, graduation?

The RED Spy raised an eyebrow. “As though you know when my birthday is in the first place.” Truthfully, he didn’t know it himself, but that wasn’t important. He craned his neck as though looking at his own watch. “Is there any way we could hurry this along? -Some- of us are still actively busy.”

The classic shrugged. It was not in his apprentice's interest to rush through this. Nothing good waited for him after this. But he was clearly done being criticized. "Be my guest. You can start by telling me why you came here, so that I can decide what I will do with you."

“What if I did just come to see you, mmm? Would that change anything?”

"It would." The classic unfolded his arms and clasped them behind his back, "I would be less embarrassed for you.”

“Really? Less embarrassed?” Bernard allowed a hint of his genuine surprise to ring in his voice.

“It means you're just a lonely man, not an incompetent spy." He started to circle around the younger spy, glancing again at the ropes to see if they were coming loose yet, "Is that why you're here, Bernard?"

He bristled silently as the man passed behind him—he didn’t like people at his back under the best circumstances, never mind when he was bound to a chair. “In that case—yes, that is why I’m here. I was disappointed that I haven’t heard from you in so long—or perhaps you simply couldn’t find me?”

Falcon Eyes wiped a hand over his owned masked face, although he didn't dare remove the mask, even in exasperation. Especially with this current ‘guest’. "That is your answer then? You came because I didn't give you enough attention?"

“I would much rather be your guest than your prisoner—and I would rather be -your- prisoner than hers.” Bernard shrugged one shoulder, testing the knots on his wrists at the same time—still tight. “I don’t know if I would quite put it that way,” he rolled his eyes, “though you’re hardly the worst company I could keep.”

The classic Spy seemed amused, in fact. His features softened a little, the frustration disappeared. "Because I find torture distasteful doesn't mean I'm a better host for a prisoner.”

He finally started to really approach spy and leaned in, "What are you expecting? Do you think that I'm going to wrap you around my finger..." He started hooking the Spy's tie around his fist, "toy with you... And we will both have some fun?" He tugged slightly on the tie.

Bernard’s breathing sped up, and he was irritatingly certain his pupils were dilated. He forced himself to stay back in the chair, not lean into Falcon’s touch. “That...does sound like a pleasant way to pass the time, doesn’t it?” He fought to keep his voice level, and he hoped Falcon would take the breathiness as intentional flirting. 

The classic chuckled, "Somehow, I thought you would think so." He released Spy's tie and took his radio to summon a teammate. "Ram Horn, this is Falcon Eye. I'm ready for you in room C08."

The radio responded quickly. A deeper and more gruff voice. "Ram Horn to C08."

Spy mentally flicked through what he knew about the Classic team and their code names. At the moment he couldn’t remember if Ram Horn was the Soldier or Demoman—though he was apparently about to find out!

The older man stowed the radio and smirked, "Let's make it a party then, no?"

A raised eyebrow was the only reaction Bernard allowed himself. “Well, you know what the English say—two’s company, three’s a crowd.” He gave the older Spy a knowing look. “I’m certain we two can find a way to entertain each other, don’t you think?”

The classic knew the younger Spy was attracted to him in more than a professional way. He would be a fool to not notice the lingering stares, or how easily the Frenchman slid into that deep silky tone. None of it had the intending effect on Falcon. Previously, he chose to never acknowledge it and assumed his protegé might outgrow it. But if that wasn't going to happen, he could exploit it. The older man slipped a hand into spy's breast pocket and took the cigarette case out. He took a cigarette and placed it between his prisoner's lips, "Three is too much for you? What is that line you are always saying... I like my teams as I like my sexual encounters. In groups of eight." He held a flame to the cigarette, "Do you need me to invite some more of my team?"

Watching the flame dance in front of his eyes was a potent reminder of what other teammates he might invite. Lips clamping down on the cigarette, he shook his head emphatically. He inhaled to get the tip smouldering, grateful for the familiar comfort and distraction. He was used to speaking through a cigarette, though his lip—his whole mouth—was dryer than usual. “No,” he said, lightly, “I’m sure the three of us—“ it was impossible that ‘Ram Horn’ referred to the Pyro, thank providence for small mercies “—can keep each other...entertained, without having to resort to any unpleasantness,  _ n’est pas _ ?”

Falcon eyes clicked the lighter shut, " _ Bien _ ." They didn't wait long before the door opened and the classic Demoman came in. He looked over the Red Spy in the chair and grinned, rolling his shoulder to let his back pop. "What is this?"

"My apprentice." The classic spy answered as he circled the younger man again.

"Oh?" He looked closer and grinned wider.

“I would hardly call myself your apprentice, and what I did learn from you was decades ago.” Fear tended to sharpen Bernard’s tongue, even when it was in his best interests to keep quiet or speak more charmingly.

"Ah, so it is!" He reached out to stroke the thin red balaclava on Spy's cheek, "This is the new uniform then? I don't mind the hole for the mouth." He didn't keep his hand in place long enough for Spy to bite him.

He knew very, very little about the man who had just entered the room, and while it was unlikely he was as...creative... as the Pyro, unknowns were never good for a spy.

Ram Horn took the cigarette and start to smoke it. "What is he doing here?"

Spy leered at the man’s comment about his mask, making a stifled sound of protest when the newcomer snatched his barely begun cigarette. The chair rocked slightly as he tried to use his arms, forgetting they were bound. “Rude,” he said, looking haughtily at his shoes. The kind gesture of a cigarette was not truly for him, his mentor effectively only let him hold it for his teammate.

The two continued without acknowledging Spy for anything more than his presence. The classic answered Greg, "Looking for attention, apparently." 

The Demoman laughed, "A Spy? Wants attention?" But he saw the other classic wasn't so amused and he quieted down. 

"I think he will reconsider it, when you're done with him." The classic stated. 

Demoman grinned around his cigarette, "You mean I'm- "

“Are you ready?" The classic spy interrupted him, not alerting their prisoner in for what was happening until it was beginning.

Greg stepped up and unfastened the Kevlar crotch guard of his demolition suit, "I will be." Next, he only needed to unzip his suit for his cock to spring forward.

“Do you really want to stick that in my mouth against my will?” Bernard didn’t like them ignoring him, but he tried not to show that.

Greg was stroking his cock and watching Spy's lips work, barely listening. "You don't like this? I'll enjoy it enough for the both of us, then.” 

“If your friend has taught you anything about spies, you would know our mouths tend to contain—besides the ever-present danger of teeth on delicate flesh—surprises.”

The classic spy made use of his position now and he reached from behind Bernard to cup his cheeks. Long gloved fingers stroked under Spy's jaw and he lifted the man's face to meet the cock. It was almost gentle and coaxing, but then strong thumbs pressed into his cheeks and pushed between Spy's molars, forcing his mouth open wide. The hold wasn't comfortable at all, and closing his mouth resulted in his teeth almost puncturing the slick inside of his own cheeks. The only relief was for the younger man to keep his mouth very very open.

Bernard regretted his words immediately—of course Falcon would have planned for that contingency. He had a brief moment of relief when Falcon started petting his face, until his grip tightened. He fought wildly for a moment, with his whole body, then he forced himself still. “Ahh!” he protested, shaking his head and hoping Falcon would understand he was trying to speak, not simply protesting. 

The classic didn't hesitate or try to interpret the younger man's sounds. He kept Spy's head steady and hushed him. Greg gripped the base of his cock and slid into Spy's mouth, rubbing his glans along the slick tongue to wet himself.

It was clear that Greg came from work and didn't bother to clean up on the way here. He didn't know what he was requested here for. Or maybe, even if he did, he wouldn't care. He smelled strongly, from sweating in a thick jumpsuit all day, but very richly masculine. No trace of perfume or anything but sweat. Undeniably sweat, making his cock salty also on Spy's tongue. 

“Please, please!” Bernard protested with a wide open mouth, before he was effectively silenced. He rolled his eyes—this was all so unnecessary! He didn’t struggle at all, still hoping to convince them he didn’t need to be held like that. Perhaps the erection ruining the line of his tailored trousers would clue them in. He couldn’t even imagine the disastrous effect an erection would have on -untailored- trousers!

"I love the new uniform." Greg said as he looked down at their captive. "I wish they were like this in our day. There's something exciting for keeping the mask on." The length of his cock started to tease the back of Spy's throat and Greg addressed him finally, "Look at me."

Spy's mentor, the classic Spy, was silent and almost absent. He didn't come to comfort or criticise his pupil now. It would feel as though he abandoned Spy entirely, if it was not for those very painful thumbs still in his cheeks.

Eyes watering, Bernard focused on breathing slowly and deeply through his nose as the newcomer pushed deeper and deeper. He rolled his eyes at the comment—though it did plant the intriguing suggestion that Falcon had blown this man in the past. His gaze snapped to the stranger’s face at the command. He started looking away, rebelliously, but this was a small concession that would hopefully earn himself some goodwill. Bernard was irritated with his dick for still being hard throughout this experience—though, again, perhaps one of them would notice and treat him more like a participant than a prisoner. Every time the stranger drew out enough, Bernard continued trying to get his message across. 

They showed no sign of stopping with intention. If anything, Demoman was pumping harder and faster into Spy's mouth, and clearly too lost in his own enjoyment to notice the captive at all. The classic, however, did notice. He lowered his head and whispered into Spy's ear, "That's an impressive reaction you have. Are you considering playing along?"

Bernard nodded emphatically, closing his eyes with relief when Falcon released him. He hoped his red face would be attributed to the Ram’s efforts, but he doubted it. He was certain his former teacher would realize he was actually blushing at being caught. He flexed his jaw as much as he was able between the Ram’s thrusts, being oh-so-careful not to so much as graze him with his teeth and risk those thumbs digging in again. He would cooperate—for now, with what was currently happening. 

The classic's grip became relaxed, but his firm gloves palms continued to hold Spy's head. The heel of his palms held Spy's strong cheekbones and his fingertips stroked the underside of his jaw. "Do what you like, he won't fight you." Falcon said to his team mate. Greg didn't need encouraging, he started to buck harder into Spy's face, hitting the back of his throat and demanding to be swallowed.

Bernard shivered beneath Falcon’s gentle hands. He’d wanted the older Spy to touch him like this for so long. Yes, it was another man’s cock down his throat, but this was still the closest he’d gotten to fulfilling his ultimate fantasy. Unfortunately, he suspected Falcon knew exactly what he was thinking. He slowly, carefully, without sudden movements adjusted the angle of his head to make deep throating more comfortable. He suspected his jaw would ache later—it did a little, already—and his throat would be raw, but for now it was tolerable. Especially if he pretended—no. Falcon would definitely realize if he imagined it was his cock he was sucking. He’d have to content himself with what he had. 

As if he was reading Spy's mind, Falcon whispered, "Who are you thinking about?" Even though he’d been halfway expecting them, Bernard jerked at Falcon’s words—his cock throbbed in unison, and he mentally frowned at it. Torn between the two of them and ashamed at being found out so easily, Bernard couldn’t help struggling a little against Falcon’s grip, just for a moment. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving with each breath. 

Ram Horn caught on and ordered again, "Look at me!"

Spy cast his eyes down so he didn’t have to look the Ram in the face and let him witness his shame.

The Demoman was a brutish man, which Spy might guess from his demeanor. But it was soon very clear. He withdrew his cock from Spy’s mouth. Classic Spy's hand disappeared from Spy's face for a moment, and the Demo's fist hit him hard. The punch was hard enough to split Bernard's lip.

Bernard grunted at the impact, trying to spit out blood before his mouth was filled again, but he didn’t have enough time. The classic Spy's hands cupped Spy's cheeks again and lifted his face for Demo's cock again. The cock slid home into his mouth and Greg demanded again, "Look at me!"

His throat spasmed and he started panicking as he felt like he was drowning. He managed to calm and slow his breath, letting the blood drool out of his mouth and down his chin. If it disgusted the man fucking him, well... Fine. He knew where they stood now. He lifted his head defiantly, staring up at the Ram with fire in his eyes. He wanted to bite down, to tear off a bite of flesh and damn the consequences, but he knew better. He hoped that desire didn’t come across. His arousal had abated a little, which was honestly a relief.

Ram pressed deep and let his cock rest in the back of Spy's throat. His testicles rested on Spy's chin and his curled hairs tickled Spy's stubbled upper lip. "You didn't like that one, huh?" Greg chuckled.

The classic Spy wasn't concerned. If they really insulted the younger Spy, he might not try to come back again. "Keep going. If he can't handle a little rough treatment, he should not be a Spy."

Bernard twisted a little as though trying to pull away, only to be brought up short by Falcon’s hands—they were gentle enough when he was still, but tightened immediately when he moved. His urge to bite down was stronger than ever, but he’d spent most of his life training himself to resist his urges in all things. Fine. He was going to make this the best fucking blowjob he could. He tested the limits of how far the two of them would let him shift without stopping him. Once he had that figured out, he turned it to his advantage, bobbing his head to the limit. He couldn’t do much with his lips or tongue, not at this depth—disappointing, really, that the Ram was living up to his name and making due with depth alone rather than skill or subtlety, not allowing Bernard to show off his skill—but he did what he could to make it clear he was a participant, not merely a passive receptacle. His mouth tasted of blood, and he didn’t want it to be his own. He let its liquid heat roll down his chin, pressing deeper, then drawing back. 

Greg responded with a satisfied growl. He slowed down his face-fucking to let the spy handle his technique. "That's incredible." The man moaned, "Did you teach him to do this?" 

The classic Spy's fingers almost clawed at the younger man's face. He said, through clenched teeth, "I. Do. NOT. Teach fellatio for espionage."

Bernard flinched slightly as the older Spy’s fingers dug in again, but he couldn’t help a satisfied smirk around his mouthful. He chose to take the Ram’s question as quite the compliment, though it also pleased him to know this was a skill he’d acquired on his own. Perhaps, if he did a good enough job, he could convince Falcon to—no, best not to think about that. Relieved to have a little more room to work, both for his comfort and professional pride, Bernard homed in on the head of the Ram’s cock, circling it with his lips and thoroughly exploring it with his tongue in between long, slow sucks that hollowed his cheeks. He kept his eyes up, as much as possible, on the Ram’s face.

The classic Spy removed his hands entirely from the younger Spy as he started to be more involved. He could still easily monitor and be sure Spy wasn't freeing himself from the ropes. Bernard couldn’t help a small hum of disappointment when Falcon removed his hands, and he couldn’t help attempting to follow him with his head.

Greg tried to maintain eye contact, his receiver's cheeks came in and his cock was pulled deeper over Spy's warm tongue. The demoman's eyes shut and he tilted his head back. "A good knock in the mouth is a motivator for this one." Greg panted. "I bet you, if I knocked him around like a sad housewife, he would suck my balls through my cock."

Spy’d just gotten back into a rhythm, starting to enjoy himself a little, when the Ram made his ugly statement. He froze, actually shocked into complete stillness.

Greg waited and rocked his hips a little to spur Spy into movement. Then he groaned like a man who is forced to leave his comfortable place in bed, as he looked at the captive and withdrew his cock. His hand came back and his open palm fell hard across Spy's cheek bone. It came back in a hard backhand that let his knuckles connect with Spy's temple. After the follow through, it came down for the third time, open palmed on Spy's face. Although the Frenchman definitely was hit in the face before, Greg was treating him, in his words, as a mistreated housewife.

Biting his lip to keep himself from crying out, Bernard threw himself against the rope, making the chair creak in protest. He forgot his lip was already split, and unleashed a fresh trickle of blood. He stretched his jaw, spitting blood on the floor between his tormentor’s boots. He glared up at the Ram with a look of distaste. “If this is how you treat your lovers, it’s a wonder you have to lower yourself to fuck prisoners,” he said, coldly and deliberately. His voice was a little hoarse from having his throat ravaged, but there was nothing he could do about that. “I’m surprised no one has snapped you up yet.”

The classic Spy chuckled at that statement. Perhaps he was expected to side with his team mate, but the biting words tickled his dark humour.

The Demoman was more blunt and didn't play so gracefully with verbal sparring. The captive Spy's cleverness was lost on him. "All right, do you want me to treat you like some woman, or a prisoner?" He pumped the base of his cock, aligning for Spy to take it into his mouth again.

Realizing he’d made a very foolish mistake—though he did appreciate that he’d gotten a laugh out of Falcon—Bernard quickly attempted to backpedal. “No, you’re quite right, I’d much rather be...” it took concentrated effort not to roll his eyes as he said it “your woman rather than your prisoner.” He even managed a thin smile of appeasement. 

Greg laughed harshly when the Spy answered that, clearly not expecting the man to answer this way. In the old man's mind it was nothing but debasing and embarrassing to be made into a woman. The laughing came to an end and he squeezed the cock in his palm, "Good." He chuckled again before saying, "Did you learn your lesson? Are you going to keep mouthing off, or sucking my cock?" The classic Spy held Spy's face again and lifted his jaw up, knowing what was coming next. Greg took the opening to slide his cock into the waiting mouth again.

Bernard nodded quickly while he had a chance, not getting the chance to reply verbally before his mouth was filled again. The urge to bite and not stop until he had flesh between his teeth was nearly overwhelming, but he forced himself to calm down and concentrate on his breathing. Falcon’s hands on his face helped, though he was completely soft now.

The mentor certainly noticed Spy's cock softened. The ram noticed in a different way Greg huffed with some disappointment, "Come on... Are you even trying?" He flexed and his cock bobbed in Spy's mouth, as if he was trying to urge the muscles to roll around him again.

"Are you?" Falcon answered. He didn't really expect much of his partner. Simply that giving the Ram an open mouth to fuck would definitely send running the owner of that mouth. Spy very nearly corrupted that plan by seducing this ‘tool’. The Demoman grunted and started pumping into the mouth, building up to the speed he was aiming for earlier.

Even with his mouth full, Bernard couldn’t completely muffle his snort of laughter at Falcon’s words, but he did his best to turn the sound into an exaggerated moan—he didn’t want to be hit again by this brute if he could help it. He hoped the man would just finish already and be done with it. 

Luckily for Spy, Greg didn't notice both spies mocking him. But he was committed to showing his team mate his effort. Allowing C spy to hold the head still, Greg truly started to pound into Spy's face. Spy needed to use all of his effort and concentration to simply breath, there was no room for more than that. His precum started to leak onto Spy's tongue and he groaned.

Bernard echoed his groan of satisfaction with one of relief when he felt the Ram’s fluids start filling his mouth. His ordeal was almost over. Still...he also sensed an opportunity passing. Moving as much as he could while the Ram inelegantly hammered away at him, he leaned into Falcon’s touch, closing his eyes and imagining his hands bare, stroking him all over. He was being so gentle now. Bernard could almost pretend a different scenario. 

The classic spy spoke softer than Greg, barely heard over the rutting growls. "Open your eyes, Bernard." But he let the spy rest completely in his hands, holding him up and cradling his head. 

The Ram finished quickly. By pure luck, rather than skill, he chose to push deep into Bernard's throat and release his seed, making it an easy job to swallow. The cock throbbed on Spy's tongue, between his lips for a while before he pulled out and let his softening cock hang freely with no attention at all. "How long are you keeping him?" Greg asked, clearly interested in another round.

The classic Spy finally truly addressed the younger man for his input, "Are you ready to leave?"

Exhausted and panting, Bernard let the full weight of his head hang in Falcon’s hands—perhaps slightly more than necessary, if he was being honest with himself. He instinctively tried to wipe his mouth with his hand, forgetting he was tied. He briefly considered wiping it on the shoulder of his suit, but decided that was a worse indignity than simply having a wet mouth. He was immediately suspicious of the offer, naturally, but he liked to think he knew Falcon about as well as anyone could—or at least he had, when he was younger—and he didn’t hear anything in Falcon’s voice to make him unduly suspicious. He opened his mouth to answer, felt the rawness of his throat, thought better of it, and simply nodded instead before once again leaning into Falcon’s hands. 

Falcon patted the Spy's cheek, "Our apologies, Greg. Perhaps next time our guest drops in?" The Demoman was disappointed to lose this toy so soon. He was very pleased with his teammate's catch. But he didn’t need to wait long to see this one again, spies never stayed out of someone else's business. He would see this man again soon.

Falcon released Spy's head and started to untie the ropes. Greg tucked away his cock and backed off. The ropes fell loose and it freed Spy from the chair. But the final knots bound Spy's arms behind him still. Falcon went to the door and opened it, "Let's go, Bernard."

Bernard stood, stiff after his confinement. He walked with as much dignity as possible, head held high, purposefully not looking at the Ram. He followed Falcon, hoping the older spy actually intended to release him, rather than turning him over to another of his teammates. 

For a spy, Falcon was a very straight forward man. He lacked the charming talking that his apprentice liked to weave. But there was a pleasant consistency to him. And a possibly eerie or possibly comforting sense of control in all situations. Falcon did exactly as he said, and walked with the younger man in bondage through empty grey halls and through the gates. They certainly passed other team mates, and although some of them asked what was happening, they trusted Falcon's plan, whatever it was. The taller man stopped at the gate and looked to the smaller French man.

He turned Spy's back to him and held a knot in the ropes around his wrists, but before he released them, he asked, "You understand what will happen if you are caught by my team again?" His tone was almost soft enough to show concern, but there was a clear threat. The Classic Spy couldn’t promise his pupil special treatment forever, especially not if their former employer started to turn them against one another.

Spy was escaping with his life—if not his virtue—intact, and that was obviously a relief, but he’d certainly failed his mission to learn what the Classic Team was doing on this base in Australia. However, as a personal victory, he’d also gotten as close as he probably ever would to having sex with his former mentor. He was almost unwilling to leave, yet, only to feel the stronger hands on his body for a little longer.

Spy’s thoughts and feelings were a tangled snarl. He needed time alone to think and recover. He finally answered, “I understand.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Classic Spy is an untapped well of sexual tension, and I hope I can convince more people to appreciate this cold hard man. A grateful thank you to tiny-freakin-head to write this with me and also publish it. And thank you also for [SpyGettingFucked](https://spygettingfucked.tumblr.com) to encourage me to complete this immediately.
> 
> -Mister Stalker


End file.
